


Carnations

by enjolrapple (Olek)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, flowers because flowers are nice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-13 19:17:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/827891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Olek/pseuds/enjolrapple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He comes in every day to buy these flowers for his love. But maybe now the love is dying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carnations

> "Little carnations, little carnations  
>  Little carnations from my heart  
>  Today I’m bringing you little carnations  
>  The color of strawberries"

For the past two months, Grantaire has come in to the florist’s shop early for the sole reason of getting there before anyone else can make a large order. He never buys many flowers, just two or three red carnations. He could certainly buy more and keep them in water so that he wouldn’t have to make the trip, but he wants the flowers to be fresh. It’s the sentiment.

The boy who works at the shop, Jehan, is friendly enough. He sets aside a few carnations every day especially for Grantaire, but he likes seeing him every morning, and so doesn’t tell him there’s no need to come so early. Today is no exception, and he grins benevolently when he hears the bell chime on the shop’s door.

“Hey, there,” Jehan greets warmly.

Grantaire smiles softly in return. “Morning.” He strolls over to the counter, rubbing his arm, and says, “Hey, Jehan, I wanted to know…”

“Yes?” the young man responds cheerfully.

“I know I usually only buy a few, but do you think today I could get a full-on bouquet? Or is that something you need to order ahead of time?” Grantaire is looking out the window at the dark clouds edging the sky.

Jehan smiles. “Not a problem, sweetie. I can fix it for you now. Would you like to look around at some of the flowers you’d like to include? Or would you like one of our pre-designed bouquets?” He gestures to the array of flowers sitting in lovely vases by the window.

Grantaire shakes his head. “I was wondering, actually, if you could make it of just carnations. Red ones, if that works.”

Jehan shrugs. “Absolutely. How many did you want?”

“Um… A lot?” Grantaire shoves his hands into his pocket. “Like, fifty or something.”

Jehan whistles. “Fifty? My, oh my. And you want it all red?”

“If it’s too much, it doesn’t need to be so many,” Grantaire quickly says.

Giggling, Jehan replies, “No, no. If you don’t mind my asking, what’s the occasion?”

Grantaire blushes. “It’s my anniversary,” he says, gazing at some invisible person.

Jehan’s eyes narrow and he smiles knowingly. “Is this the lucky person you buy flowers for every day?”

Grantaire nods.

“Oh, that’s so sweet!” Jehan gushes. “Go on, what’s their name?”

Grantaire’s blush deepens, but his gaze becomes strong. “Enjolras,” he says. “He’s just… so amazing.”

“Oh,” Jehan swoons. “Love. It’s so wonderful.” 

Grantaire grins. Then after a pause, he murmurs, “He really is wonderful.” And with a chuckle, “He can be rather hot-headed at times. He’s just passionate.”

“Aren’t they all?” Jehan sings. “Red’s a very passionate color. And passion is the essence of romance!” Grantaire chuckles and nods. Realizing he’s quickly starting to sound like a perfume ad, Jehan says, “So, anyways, you’d like a bouquet of fifty red carnations? For someone as wonderful as you say, fifty can certainly be arranged.”

“Great. I can pick it up later, right? Around noon?”

“I could prepare it right now for you.”

“That’s okay. I want to bring it to him later.”

Jehan nods. “Not a problem. I’ll see you at noon, then, sweetie.”

“Thanks.” And with that, Grantaire leaves the shop. Jehan hums quietly as he watches him go, the dark clouds now covering the sky, but pays them no mind.  
…

It’s a quarter till one, and Grantaire still hasn’t come to pick up the bouquet. Jehan tries to dismiss it: it’s his anniversary; Grantaire probably got caught up celebrating. Still, when the clock strikes two and Grantaire has yet to show, Jehan begins to worry.

Grantaire always comes in at precisely eight o’clock each morning to buy a few flowers. That he would be late in picking up such a large, important order unsettles Jehan. He hopes nothing’s gone wrong. He pictures an escalating argument and Grantaire drowning his sorrows in the middle of the day. 

Wringing his hands, he glances expectantly out the window. It’s been raining for a few hours. Maybe the rain has delayed him.

Normally Jehan wouldn’t get so worried about a customer not picking up an order. It’s happened before; a waste of time and flowers, to be sure, but nothing more than a minor irritation. This is different, though. These carnations aren’t just flowers. Grantaire has bought carnations every day for the past two months. He bought them because he was in love.

If he stops, that means the love is gone. And that’s one of the greatest tragedies Jehan can think of.

He paces the shop, trying to distract himself from the ticking of the clock by sweeping or reciting poetry to the plants. He tries putting on a smile for the other customers, but he keeps glancing towards the door, hoping to catch sight of a love-struck man. The time drags on until finally it’s five o’clock and the bouquet of carnations is still sitting behind the counter. Jehan glances at the flowers then at the clock and decides that even though he should close the shop to wait just ten minutes more for Grantaire.

Ten minutes pass, then twenty, and really Jehan can’t wait any longer. The rain has stopped, but the wet roads are going to mean traffic and dangerous drivers, and those are two things he hates encountering on a bicycle, and he just wants to get home.

He considers taking the bouquet with him, but decides to leave it. He flips off the lights and locks the door, giving one last sad look to the carnations of lost love left behind the counter.  
…

It’s six-thirty in the morning, and Jehan is sitting at the table in his apartment eating a grapefruit when Courfeyrac comes into the kitchen. He’d told his boyfriend last night about the customer who didn’t return for his carnations, and they’d cuddled while Courfeyrac murmured, “You have all my heart’s carnations until the day I die.”

Now Courfeyrac has a solemn look. He’s holding the newspaper in his hand and he places it in front of Jehan. “I think you should read this,” he says.

“What?” Jehan asks, look up at Courfeyrac. Courfeyrac points to a little article in the corner. Jehan skims it, then whispers, “Oh my god,” and reads it carefully. When he’s sure of what he’s read, he sets it down and repeats, “Oh my god,” louder. Courfeyrac places a hand on his shoulder and Jehan grabs it, rubbing his cheek against it.

The headline burns into the table as Grantaire’s photo stares out into nothing.  
…

A month has passed. Jehan sold the carnations to an elderly woman who wanted a flower arrangement made for her church. He wanted to find Enjolras and give him the bouquet, but Courfeyrac talked him out of it. He didn’t really know anything about Grantaire, much less Enjolras.

Grantaire was buried in a small town about thirty miles away with his parents. His body wasn’t too badly injured considering it was a car crash. The memorial was small, but Jehan had no idea when it took place, so he didn’t attend. 

Not many people buy red carnations individually, and Jehan sometimes thinks about all the ones he sold to that curly-haired kid. There are days, when there’s a certain briskness in the air and he’s feeling a little sleepy, that he still listens and thinks he can hear the bell chiming on the shop’s door as Grantaire walks in to buy carnations, fifty carnations for a wonderful love.

> "If one day it comes to pass  
>  That I bring you no carnations  
>  Don't believe that I don't love you anymore  
>  It's just that I couldn't get any"

"Little Carnations," from the University of Alcala of Henares, translated from the original Spanish

**Author's Note:**

> It's actually a happy song, but nope. This is why I can't have nice things.


End file.
